


The Stillness of Life

by ranguvar82



Series: Silence and Strength [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Agender Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Mute Crowley, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22683121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranguvar82/pseuds/ranguvar82
Summary: It has been two months since Aziraphale got revenge for Crowley. But the city is becoming overwhelming. Perhaps a change of pace is needed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Silence and Strength [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630903
Comments: 61
Kudos: 304
Collections: Ineffable Cats





	1. A Change of Pace is Nice, Sometimes

The Stillness of Life

Chapter One: A Change of Pace is Nice, Sometimes.

“Crowley, I’m home!” Aziraphale calls out as he enters the shop, looking around as he always does for the silent demon. “Dearest, where are you?” Normally, Crowley answers him by tapping on the walls, letting Aziraphale follow the sound. On the occasions Crowley is a snake, he will come out from wherever he is hiding and twine his way up Aziraphale, coiling himself around his shoulders and waist. So this silence is unnerving, even for someone who lives with a creature of silence. “Crowley?” He continues into the depths of the shop, peering into the dark corners and crannies, concern coloring his voice. “Where are you?”

He nearly falls over him. The demon is curled up on the floor, eyes shut and body shaking. His fingers are digging into his arms, and Aziraphale is shocked to see blood. “Crowley?” He reaches for him, and the demon’s eyes fly open, but they’re not looking at anything. Crowley snarls, lashing out at Aziraphale, teeth gone sharp and claws extended. Aziraphale catches him, and the demon tries to bite at his throat. “CROWLEY!” No response, and Aziraphale is forced to dodge a blow from Crowley’s claws that would have torn his arm open. The demon is fighting like a wild animal, breath coming in harsh, terrified gasps. He expands his angelic strength, and Crowley’s breathing becomes panicked. Aziraphale leans in, then speaks as softly as he can. “Crowley. Love. It’s me. It’s Aziraphale. You’re safe. It’s me. It’s Aziraphale. You’re safe.” He repeats this over and over, gently carding his fingers through Crowley’s sweat-damp hair. Crowley’s eyes clear, and he slowly stops trembling.

‘Az...Aziraphale?’

“Yes.”

Crowley clings to him, shaking in relief, pressing his fingers against bare skin so he can Sign. ‘Did I..’ Aziraphale knows what he’s asking, and runs his hands up and down Crowley’s spine.

“No, love, you didn’t hurt me. Just startled me, that’s all. What happened?”

‘Had a nightmare. You...Gabriel hurt you. He...tortured you. Made me watch.’

Aziraphale smiles grimly. It has been nearly two months since he got his bloody revenge on Gabriel, tearing out his Angelic Purpose and trapping him forever in the Event Horizon of a black hole. “Gabriel can’t hurt either of us, my serpent. He’s gone forever.” Crowley presses tighter against him.

‘Also dreamed about the Fire.’ Crowley’s fingers are shaking so hard Aziraphale almost has trouble deciphering the sentence. ‘I saw you burn up. Screaming.’

“Oh, my dearest...I’m here. I swore never to leave you.” He gently maneuvers Crowley so he’s looking into his gold yellow eyes. “I am your Protector, my Star Maker. I swore an Oath on Eden’s Wall.”

‘Dove.’

“What’s that?”

Crowley gives him a watery smile. ‘Dove. Remember, it’s what I used to call you? Because of your wings.’

Aziraphale presses a kiss to his forehead. “I remember. Dove and Angel. Think the only time you ever called me by my proper name was if you were upset at me.”

This time Crowley’s grin is cheeky. ‘Well, must have never called you Aziraphale.’ The angel grins and rolls his eyes.

“Wiley old serpent.” He stands, helping Crowley to his feet, then leads him over to the squashy and very comfy couch. They sit, and Aziraphale tries not to smile at the way Crowley, ever the snake, twines himself around the angel. “I’ve been thinking. This city...it’s a lot, isn’t it. Especially with your...” he pauses, trying to find a tactful means of saying what he wants to say.

‘My extreme aversion to being touched?’

Aziraphale sighs. “Yes, that. You nearly had a panic attack yesterday simply from being brushed against.”

‘What do you suggest? That I stay hidden in the shop?’

“No, I was thinking more like a change of pace. There’s some lovely land in the South Downs. Lots of open spaces. We could...get a cottage, maybe. One that could hold my books and your music boxes. Maybe even a space for musical instruments, if you want. Get away from the noise and the crowds. Give you a chance to...recover some.”

Crowley tilts his head and looks at the angel upside down, a grin on his face. ‘When can we start cottage hunting?’

Aziraphale beams so brightly Crowley is forced to close his eyes. “How about tomorrow?”

Miss Eleanor Clewes, of Clewes Real Estate, is having the sort of day that makes one want to crawl into bed and never come out. First the inspection for one of the manor houses had fallen through, then the clients had decided at the very last second that they were going to go with another Realtor. Now she is sitting in her stifling hot office, wondering why the man hasn’t come to fix the air yet, and cursing herself for ever starting this god forsaken business in the first place.

The sound of a jingling bell alerts her to potential clients, and she puts on her best Professional Smile. It barely manages to stay on when she sees the two men standing in front of her desk.

The shorter one has hair so blond it’s nearly white, and is dressed like he just stepped out of a Dickens novel. He is gently holding the taller one’s hand. The tall one is dressed all in black and wearing dark glasses. This would not be so odd if not for the horrid scars that Eleanor can see on his throat. The shorter one speaks. “Excuse me, I was wondering if that property in the window was still for sale. The cottage in the Downs?”

Eleanor wrenches her gaze away from Scarred Throat, belatedly wondering how they happened. “Which one? There’s several.”

Scarred Throat rolls his eyes and makes a very complicated hand motion. Dickens Role Play smiles at him, then turns to Eleanor. “The one that has the conservatory.”

“Oh! Yes, that one is still on the market.” And worth about 3.4 million, she thinks. These two(they might be a couple, but Eleanor’s not sure) don’t exactly look like they are flush with cash.

Dickens smiles again, and she feels a rush of...warmth. “Well, my dear, would it be too much trouble to go and look at it?”

“Umm...no, I suppose not.”

Four hours later, Eleanor has sold the cottage for five times more than it was listed to Mr. Ezra Fell and his partner, Mx Anthony/Antonia Crowley. Mr. Fell has paid in cash and assured her that any repairs could be easily handled by himself or Crowley.

She can’t help but think that her day is looking up.

Aziraphale looks around their new home, then back to the demon. “What do you think?”

‘It’s perfect, Angel.’


	2. Hello, We're the New Neighbors. Leave Us Alone.

Chapter Two Hello, We’re The New Neighbors. Leave Us Alone.

The absence of noise is what awakens Crowley. He blinks, feeling a bit wrong footed before realizing where he is. He’s snuggled under several very warm blankets in a very large bed in their cottage in the South Downs. They’ve been living here for a week now, and Crowley cannot remember ever being happier. He sighs in contentment and reaches out for Aziraphale.

His hand closes on empty space. Crowley whimpers, peeking out from his blanket cave. No angel. Aziraphale is always there when he wakes up. Something must be wrong. Angels found them. Or Hell. Or both. He could be in danger, and not able to cry for help! Alarmed, Crowley snaps into snake form and slithers as fast as he can towards the stairs.

He comes barreling around the corner, fangs bared and dripping poison, ready to fight for his angel.

“Crowley, what on Earth?” Aziraphale is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a spatula in one hand and an extremely confused look on his face. Crowley retracts his fangs and slithers as quickly as he can over to Aziraphale, twining up his legs and coiling around his chest, pressing his snakey tongue to his cheek. Aziraphale gently scratches his head. “Oh, did I worry you?” A gentle tap of snake head to angel cheek. “I really thought you’d sleep a bit longer. I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed.” Two more taps. “Yes, I know you don’t eat, but I also happen to know that goes right out the window when it comes to cinnamon rolls. I’ve seen you eat six in one sitting.” A series of taps. “Yes, they’re ready. But really, hadn’t you ought to change?”

Crowley slithers off Aziraphale, changing forms and genders as she goes. She grins at the angel, who grins back. “Decided to go feminine today?” Crowley nods. “You look lovely, my dear.”

Crowley blushes crimson. ‘Cinnamon rolls. Gimme.’

Aziraphale laughs. “They’re in the kitchen. Help yourself.” He is forced to leap aside lest he be bowled over by an ecstatic demon. Aziraphale follows at a more sedate pace. Crowley is at the table, shoveling rolls into her mouth with single minded determination. Aziraphale sets a large mug of black coffee in front of her, and Crowley gulps half of it down despite it being scalding hot. “Good?” Crowley gives him two thumbs up.

Aziraphale savors his rolls, chewing slowly to get all the flavors. He’s so glad they came out. It has taken him two days and several tries(he’s had to quickly smother more than one fire so as not to alarm his demon) to perfect these rolls. He feels a sense of accomplishment at creating something without using miracles. He looks over at Crowley. “My dear, you have frosting all over your face.” He blinks as her tongue comes out, licking up every last bit. “Well. Any plans for today?”

Crowley shrugs, chewing with one hand so she can Sign. ‘Might check on some of my older boxes, make sure they’re still in tune. You?’

“I was thinking of organizing the books and maybe moving that chair that’s in the parlor into the library, and moving the couch out to the parlor. That way you could do your limpet bit in the evenings and I could stretch out.”

‘Limpet bit?’

“Fine, friendly octopus. You have this tendency to cling, my darling.” Crowley’s face falls.

‘Trust you. Don’t you like it?’

Aziraphale reaches over and places his hand over hers. “My dear, it makes me absolutely giddy when you cling to me.” Crowley blushes.

‘Like it too.’

Aziraphale is about to respond when a sound breaks the silence. For a second, he has no idea what it might be, then realizes it’s the doorbell. “Who on earth?” They’re set far enough back from the road that someone would have to come down their lane on purpose, and the nearest house is a half mile away, and empty. Aziraphale huffs, determined to ignore whoever it is and hopes they’ll get the message and go away.

They do not get the message. The doorbell keeps ringing, and now it’s accompanied by very loud knocking. “Oh, for Hell’s sake!” Aziraphale stands up, feeling rather put out. Crowley follows him, wringing her hands and shaking in nervous anticipation.

He yanks the door open rather harder than he really means to, glaring with disdain at the middle aged couple on their front steps. “Yes?”

The man smiles, and for a moment Aziraphale is reminded of the way Gabriel used to smile. He feels a fleeting yet overwhelming urge to punch the man. The woman is dressed in the most god awful ugly dress he’s ever seen, and he can almost feel Crowley’s disgust at the fashion nightmare. They both have wide, plastic smiles and faces that are so tan they’re almost orange. “Hiii!” The woman speaks first, and Aziraphale winces. Great. They’re Americans. “I’m Sylvia Crane, and this is my husband George! We just moved in down the lane and thought we’d introduce ourselves!” Aziraphale blinks at them. Sylvia does not get the message. He rolls his eyes and extends his hand.

“Ezra Fell, and this is my partner, Antonia Crowley.’

His hand is seized and pumped vigorously by both mortals. It takes him several moments to extract himself, and before he can say anything, Sylvia pushes past him and pulls Crowley into a tight hug. The effect is galvanic.

Crowley’s breathing becomes harsh and panicked, and she begins to struggle, eyes rolling in horror. She bares her teeth, fingers digging into the sleeves of Sylvia’s dress as she fights to extract herself.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Crane.” Aziraphale’s voice is cold. “Would you be so kind as to let go of my partner? She has an extreme aversion to being touched by someone she does not know.”

Sylvia gives Crowley one last squeeze before letting go. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll get to know each other very well!” Aziraphale looks over at Crowley, who is curled up on the floor, rocking back and forth in an effort to keep from panicking.

“I don’t think so. I would very much appreciate it if you would leave.”

Sylvia looks as though he has just suggested she go do an unspeakable sex act involving dead animals. “Well! So much for English hospitality. Come along, George. It’s obvious we’re not welcome here. You are a very rude man, Mr. Fell.”

Aziraphale smiles toothily and takes great pleasure in slamming the door in their faces. Crowley has calmed down somewhat, but she is still breathing fast. “Would you like to go take a quick shower, my love?” Crowley shakes her head.

‘Want my music.’

“Of course, love. Which box?”

‘The one that plays the Fifth. The dark brown one on the second shelf.’

Aziraphale fetches the box and winds it up, placing it on the floor between them. “Amazing man.” Crowley nods and leans into Aziraphale as the sounds of Beethoven’s Fifth fill the cottage.


	3. It Looks Like You're In, Treble

Chapter Three: It Looks Like You’re In, Treble

Aziraphale looks over at Crowley. “My dear, are you sure about this? We don’t have to, you know.” It has been a month since they moved into their cottage, and three weeks since they were bothered by their rather pushy American neighbors, the Storks or Herons(Aziraphale only knows it’s some sort of large bird). Happily for both angel and demon, they seem to have picked up on the not so subtle hint that their neighbors did not desire any company.

Now, though, Crowley has asked if they could go and walk around the nearby village. At first, Aziraphale has been thrilled that his love wants to get out of the house, as they have both been going a bit stir crazy with cabin fever. But Crowley is still jumping at shadows, hunching in on himself and baring his teeth in a snarl whenever someone walks by them. Aziraphale gently steers him into an alcove. “Darling, if you don’t want to be here, we can leave. I will not be cross with you.”

Crowley sighs and shakes his head. ‘ ‘M okay, Angel. I can’t hide forever, right? Road to recovery and all that?’ Aziraphale nods, still a bit skeptical. ‘So we’ll stay for a bit. I saw a bookshop down the street, and I know you can’t resist those.’

The bookshop turns out to be a lovely little place by the name of The Tattered Pages, run by a very nice lady named Marsha Vickers. She is an older woman, plump and happy, with a bright, sunny smile and a penchant for hats with fake cherries. “Hello!”

Aziraphale sighs in happiness, looking around at the cluttered shelves, low tables, and various pieces of squishy and mismatched chairs. “What an absolutely lovely place this is!” Mrs. Vickers blushes like a schoolgirl.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as all that. Now, unless I miss my guess, you two are the couple that moved into the old Hartly place last month.”

Aziraphale smiles and holds out his hand. It’s pumped once, firmly, then let go. “Indeed. I’m Ezra Fell, and this is Anthony Crowley.” Mrs. Vickers goes to shake Crowley’s hand, and he shies back. Aziraphale braces himself for another explanation. Instead, Mrs. Vickers smiles gently at Crowley.

“Don’t like being touched, do you?” Crowley shakes his head vigorously. “That’s okay. I have a nephew who’s the same. I’ll just wave to you, how does that sound?” And much to Crowley’s relief and amusement, she does exactly that. He waves back, grinning. “Also, forgive me for assuming, but you are mute?” A nod. “Are you deaf as well?” Crowley shakes his head. “Well, that will make things a bit easier. Do you enjoy reading, Mr. Fell?”

Aziraphale laughs. “You could say that. I used to own a bookshop in Soho.”

“How exciting!”

‘You never sold a single book, Angel. Calling it a ‘shop’ is a bit misleading.’ Crowley Signs, a smirk on his face. Aziraphale sticks out his tongue.

“Hush, wiley serpent, and let me peruse this place.” Crowley rolls his eyes and flops into a nearby chair as only he can, head thrown back. Mrs. Vickers looks a trifle concerned.

“Oh dear, is he comfortable like that?”

Aziraphale doesn’t even bother to look up from the book of myths he’s flipping through. “He’s perfectly fine.” The book is well written, with some absolutely lovely illustrations. Myths have always fascinated Aziraphale. Seeing how the mortals came up with explanations for the world around them was so much fun. Plus, he thinks with a devious grin, it had always pissed Gabriel off. Aziraphale fleetingly hopes the bastard is being torn apart in that hole. He places the book on the table in front of Crowley. “This will do for a start, I think.” Crowley pouts and settles in for the long haul.

Two hours later, they come out of the store with a pile of books so high that only divine beings(which luckily, they both are) could have any hope of seeing over them. After depositing the mountain of literature in the Bentley, they both decide(well, Aziraphale decides, Crowley reluctantly agrees) that it is time for lunch. The only cafe in the village, The Speckled Giraffe, turns out to be a sandwich shop that advertises itself as having homemade everything. You order at the counter and place a plastic number token on your table. Aziraphale has a roast turkey on rye with Swiss cheese, tomatoes, and no mayo, with a side of homemade crisps and a glass of fresh apple cider. Crowley orders the Special, a triple meat sub on wheat with hot peppers and spicy mayo. He also orders the crisps, and has a Coke. The meal is rustic to the extreme, especially for an angel used to dining at the Ritz, but it is remarkably delicious. Aziraphale polishes off both his crisps and Crowley’s in a very short time.

Later, they’re walking down the very lovely sidewalk when Crowley suddenly stops, tugging on Aziraphale’s sleeve. “What?” Crowley points to the sign on the building in front of them. SHELTER. “You want to go in there?” An insistent nod and tug. “Very well.”

The young lady at the counter looks up when they come in. “Hi! Welcome to the Friends of the Animals Shelter. I’m Shelley. Were you looking for a furry friend?” Aziraphale is about to say that no, they were just looking, when he notices Crowley nodding eagerly. “I..yes, I suppose we are.”

‘You don’t mind?’

“Of course not.”

Shelley smiles at them. “Well, feel free to look around. Dogs and puppies are to your right, cats and kittens to the left.” Crowley grabs Aziraphale and pulls him to the left side of the shelter.

“I take it you are not interested in getting a dog.”

‘Slobbery.’ Crowley peers in at the kittens, who stare back at him, meowing. ‘Cats all have a bit of demon in them, anyway. Dogs go to Heaven, right?’

“That silly little movie certainly thought so.”

Crowley rolls his eyes. ‘You cried for two hours after we watched that ‘silly little movie’, Angel.’ He moves among the cages, sticking his fingers through the bars and letting the animals nibble on him. Aziraphale pointedly ignores this very true statement.

“Any of them strike your fancy?” Crowley shakes his head, but then stops in front of a cage. Inside it is the smallest, saddest cat Aziraphale has ever seen. It is so scrawny Aziraphale can count its ribs, and one ear is torn to ribbons. It’s a black and white one. It’s staring out at them, mouth bared in a hiss. Crowley reaches into the cage, and the cat swipes at his hand, snarling. Crowley doesn’t retract his hand. Instead, he gently strokes the top of the cat’s head. The cat slowly relaxes, and the growl becomes an extremely loud purring. Crowley looks over at Aziraphale. ‘Him.’

“I’ll go tell Shelley.”

If Shelley is shocked by their choice of pet, she hides it well. The cat is draped over Crowley’s shoulders, purring loudly as he kneads his scarf. “Oh, we thought that one would never get adopted. He was rescued from a very abusive home, you see.” Aziraphale smiles as he realizes why Crowley has been drawn to this particular animal. “I just need you to fill out some papers and pay the adoption fee, and you’ll be all set. Would you like a carrier?”

Crowley shakes his head.

Later that night, Crowley’s new companion is lying on his chest, purring loudly as Crowley strokes him. Aziraphale reaches over and runs his hand over the cat’s head, and is given a purr of his very own. Animals always did like him. “We need to come up with a name.”

‘Already did.’

“Oh, and what is it?”

‘Treble.’

“Trouble? Well, that’s certainly a bit extreme, but cats usually are...”

Crowley laughs in his silent way. ‘Not TROUBLE, Angel. TREBLE. Like the musical note.’

Aziraphale grins. “It’s perfect, my love.”


	4. A Demon, A Cat, and A Principality Walk into a Garden

Chapter Four: A Demon, A Cat, and A Principality Walk into a Garden.

Aziraphale is almost certain that their obnoxious American neighbors had gotten the not so subtle hint that he and Crowley wanted nothing more than to be left alone. He has made that very clear. Very, very clear. So when he opens the door at what Crowley so eloquently terms “Fuck O’Clock in the morning” and sees their plastic smiles and orange faces, he has an overwhelming urge to do a bit of Smiting. But instead he gives them a tight smile, speaking as politely and coldly as he can. “What?”

The woman, Cynthia or Sybil, or some such like that(Aziraphale has no problem remembering a mortal’s name if he likes them. If not, he feels no such obligation) is once again dressed in an outfit that would make his love weep with horror. Aziraphale almost closes his eyes against the bright green and yellow monstrosity. She smiles, showing pearl white teeth. “I know we didn’t quite get off on the right foot last time, Ezra.”

Aziraphale continues to glare. “Mr. Fell, if you do not mind. And yes, I would say that refusing to let go of Crowley when she was clearly distressed could be called ‘not getting off on the right foot.’”

Bird Woman’s face falls a bit, but the plastic smile returns quickly. “Well, is your wife awake?”

“My husband...” Aziraphale emphasizes the word, since Crowley has been male presenting for the last few weeks.. “is asleep. As I was before you decided to use our doorbell as a musical instrument.”

Mr. Bird speaks at this, and Aziraphale is less than shocked to find that he even sounds like Gabriel used to, all smug condescension. “We were under the impression that you had a wife. Antonia.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “I do. But right now, she’s my husband, and his name is Anthony. Occasionally, they’re my partner, and then they simply go by Crowley.”

Bird Woman looks at him in disgust. “That’s against God’s law! Men can’t be women! It’s in the Bible! I should have known you were both godless heathens!” Aziraphale blinks at her, torn between laughing his ass off at an angel being called a ‘godless heathen’ and delivering a blistering lecture on how the Bible was written by several mortals and is about as accurate as a drunk man trying to walk a tightrope.

Mr. Bird is nodding, glaring at Aziraphale. “You can still be saved, you know. You and your wife.”

“ _ **Husband**_.” Aziraphale growls the word, letting a bit of Angelic Glare slip out. “And believe me, there is nothing we need saving from. Now, will you kindly get the fuck off our porch?”

“You’re going to Hell!” Mrs. Bird yells as they set off.

“Already been there!” Aziraphale shouts back. He huffs in annoyance, sends a very minor miracle after them, and heads back inside. “Morning, darling.”

Crowley wraps himself around his lovely warm angel, tracing words on his skin. ‘Woke up. Not there.’

Aziraphale kisses the top of his head. “Those awful neighbors of ours. I’ll tell you about it later. Where’s Treble?” As if on cue, the cat comes scurrying around the corner, mewing in happiness. He latches onto Crowley’s pajama legs and clambers up, taking his place on the demon’s shoulders, purring loudly. Crowley melts, rubbing his cat’s head.

In the two weeks since being brought home, Treble has changed from a scrawny, scared cat into a sleek, mischievous devil. His fur, which had been tangled and matted, is now luxuriously soft and shiny, and his once dull eyes are now a bright green. He and Crowley are inseparable, with Treble constantly riding on the demon’s shoulders. Aziraphale would almost be jealous if it wasn’t so utterly adorable. ‘Watch this, Angel.’ Crowley carefully lifts Treble off his shoulders, handing him to Aziraphale. The cat purrs at being held by his other favorite person shaped being. Crowley melts into his snake form, then indicates for Aziraphale to put Treble down.

Snake and cat stare at each other, then Crowley wiggles his tail. Treble goes into a hunting crouch, a growl rising in his throat. Crowley wiggles again, and Treble pounces...and lands on empty air. The cat turns, and Crowley once again wiggles his tail. Pounce. Miss. Wiggle. Pounce. Finally, Crowley wraps his coils gently around Treble, and the cat curls up, purring in smug satisfaction. Crowley becomes human shaped again, Treble curled up in his arms. ‘First time he saw me snakey, he hid under the bed and hissed at me. Then decided my tail was something to play with.’

“Silly creature.”

Crowley grins. ‘Me or Treble?’

“Yes.” Aziraphale looks outside. “You know, dear, it is shaping up to be a rather lovely day. What would you say to a picnic breakfast in the garden?” Crowley nods. He’s been working hard on the garden. He’d had a few plants back in Mayfair, but most of his flat had been taken up by his music boxes. He has been very thrilled to discover that he has quite the green thumb. Plus, digging into the soil and rooting out the bad plants is very therapeutic. “Wonderful. I’ll warm up some of the rolls I made last night, and I’m certain we still have some strawberries.”

Twenty minutes later, Crowley is lying on his back on the warm grass, Aziraphale next to him. Treble is hunting lizards(and not having much success). ‘So...the neighbors?’

Aziraphale huffs. “Oh, them. Turns out they’re Bible thumping bigots.” He gives a brief recap of their conversation that morning. Crowley blinks, then falls over, mouth open in silent laughter.

‘Called YOU godless?!’

Aziraphale tries to look annoyed, but then collapses into laughter himself. “I...I need to tell you the best bit. After they left, I...” he giggles, trying to compose himself. “I made it so that whenever they try to push their bigoted beliefs on someone, they’ll...” He’s overwhelmed by laughter.

‘What, Angel? They’ll what?’

Aziraphale manages, just barely, to gasp out the answer. “They’ll start quacking like ducks!”

Crowley, somehow, falls even more in love with his Bastard of an Angel.


	5. Life in a Not So Normal Country Village

Chapter Five: Life in a Not So Normal Country Village

To the tourists and people simply passing through, the small country village is just like every other one in the South Downs. There’s a quaint little cafe, a bookshop, an animal shelter, other various businesses, and a church with a lovely spire on top. The houses are all charmingly English, and whitewashed every other Wednesday. For those that live there, though, the village has changed in subtle and wonderful ways.

Most of the locals will agree that the changes started the moment those two strange beings, Mr. Ezra Fell and that other one, Crowley, moved into the empty Hartly house. The locals, being English and therefore too polite to meddle without being asked, had left them to their own devices while also keeping a close watch. When those horrible Americans had moved in down the road, tongues had wagged, with most of the local gossips agreeing that it was a right shame to have such pushy neighbors.

It is on a Wednesday evening that Miss Evelyn Darcy, the owner/waitress/cook at the Speckled Giraffe, and Mrs. Vickers at the bookshop burst into the local Hall and blurt out three words that made everyone sit up and pay attention. “We saw them!”

A flurry of questions greet this seemingly innocuous statement. Miss Darcy holds up her hands, stopping the flow. “They came into the cafe for lunch. The short one, Mr. Fell, ‘es a very polite man. ‘As a smile that lights up a room, ‘e does. Calls everyone ‘dear’. Reminds me of me gramps, God rest his soul. ‘E gushed over his sandwich, said ‘ed never ‘ad a better, not even at The Ritz.”

“Wot about the other one?” Dave Richards, owner of the plant shop, asks. “Crowley?”

‘E’s a mute. ‘Ad some sort of ‘orrible accident when ‘e was young, Mr. Fell says. Got ‘is throat all tore up. ‘E’s very shy. Mr. Fell says ‘e’s ‘Touch Averse’. ‘E also said that ‘e isn’t always a he.”

“Wossat mean?”

Richards’ daughter, who is far more up on how gender is more a Gordian Knot than a straight line, sighs. “It means he’s genderfluid.” Richards looks slightly confused, but both Miss Darcy and Mrs. Vickers are nodding.

Miss Vickers speaks up for the first time. “Mr. Fell used to own a bookshop. Not sure wot Mr. Crowley...as ‘e was going by when I met them...did for a livin’. Mr. Crowley’s just about as skinny as a beanpole.”

“I met them too.” Shelley speaks up from her seat. “They came into the shelter and adopted a cat.”

“Which one?” asks Miss Darcy.

“Do you remember that little ‘un we rescued from Fred Gordon’s house?” The other villagers frown darkly. They do indeed remember that poor creature. Fred himself had been ‘asked’ to leave town by a few of the more burly lads(who happened to love cats). “Well, you know wot he was like. Couldn’t get near him without losing a finger. So you won’t believe wot happens. Mr. Crowley comes swaggerin’ out of the cats’ room lookin’ like butter wouldn’t melt in ‘is mouth, and that devil of a cat on ‘is shoulders like it belongs there, purrin’ to beat the band.”

The villagers agree that this is certainly very exciting news, and resolve to keep an even closer eye on the strange new neighbors.

Mr. Fell comes to the village more often than his partner, but is always unfailingly polite and friendly. It isn’t until they run into the Vicar, a horrible old bigoted fart that the rest of the villagers dearly wish would retire and leave, that they see a different side to what a few have started calling The Angel.

Though Mx Crowley doesn’t come right out with it(not that he could), the gossips of the village have sussed that they have some serious problems with religion, and Mr. Fell seems the sort that once believed very heartily but has had his beliefs shaken quite a lot.

It’s a lovely spring day, and both Mr. Fell and Crowley are out, walking along the shops and enjoying each other’s company. Crowley is presenting female today, and she’s wearing a black dress with sheer sleeves, and black heels. Mr. Fell has his arm around her, and he’s beaming at everyone that passes by. Crowley waves shyly. The villagers, now well used to the fact that Antonia(Crowley’s female name, as explained by Mr. Ezra Fell) does not like any sort of touch, wave back. They are just starting to turn into the Giraffe when a loud voice from behind stops them. Crowley jumps, pressing against Mr. Fell. Immediately, the villagers listen in, all while pretending to go about their business.

“YOU GODLESS HEATHENS, STOP RIGHT THERE!” It’s the Vicar, and he’s looking even more righteous and smug than ever. Mr. Fell turns, a cold smile on his face. The Vicar, who is a half head shorter than him, comes marching up, face red and finger waggling. “You have a lot of nerve, showing your sinful faces in this village! You think I don’t know about you two! Living in sin, and that one...” he points to Crowley, who bares her rather sharp teeth in what is unmistakably a snarl, “pretending to be both a man and a woman! It is against God’s law! I will not have that sort of FILTH in my village, do you understand me?! I WILL NOT!”

Mr. Fell’s smile becomes even colder. “I think, perhaps, what you want and what will happen are two entirely separate things. I would also think that since you claim to be a man of God, you should probably realize that She has no problem with Crowley and myself. If She did, She would have said so long ago.” He tilts his head, and now his smile is almost one of pity. “But you haven’t been a man of God for a long, long time. You spout beliefs that isolate half the people of this village and anger the other half. Your sermons are the worst form of bigotry, ignorance, and damnation. You have no love for anything except yourself. I would ask you to repent, but I can see in your soul that you would not, as you are certain that you are a righteous man.”

The Vicar is turning purple. “How DARE you?! I am a man of the Cloth, you cannot speak to me this way! You heathen! Who do you think you are?!”

The rest of the villagers aren’t really sure what happens next. There’s a flash of light so bright that they’re forced to close their eyes(though little Timmy, who peeked, swears that Mr. Fell had wings and a sword that was on fire, and Ms. Crowley had fangs) and a strange, echoing voice that makes their bones vibrate.

_**I AM THE PRINCIPALITY AZIRAPHALE.** _

The light vanishes as quickly as it appeared, and the villagers are less than shocked to find that the Vicar is running down the street, screaming in horror. Mr. Fell and Ms. Crowley are smiling at each other. “Well, so much for him.” Crowley makes a complicated hand motion, and Mr. Fell laughs so hard he has to sit down.

The villagers file this away in the category of ‘how very odd, but at least that old bastard got his’ and go about their day.

No one is really sure who starts the idea that Mr. Fell might not be human. No one’s really certain what he is, but the general consensus is that he is either an actual angel or that he is simply a very polite member of the Fae. They also know that ever since Mr. Fell entered their lives, things have been going better in subtle ways. Businesses that were on the brink of closing find themselves prospering. People that are in poor health, spirits, or in dire straits find themselves recovering, and the new Vicar, who had arrived a week after the old one had left ‘to recover his health’ is a lovely young man who preaches love and tolerance in all forms. He even manages to win over Mx. Crowley(though they still refuse to set foot in the church proper).

As for Mx. Crowley, consensus is that they are also not human, but are certainly not of the same species as Mr. Fell. Where Mr. Fell rewards the good and brings good luck to those who need it, Mx. Crowley punishes the bad and causes misfortune to those who hurt others. They are extremely protective of the children of the village, and will rain destruction down on anyone who harms them. The villagers still talk about what happened to Mr. Green, who had been abusing both his daughters.

So if by chance you’re passing through the South Downs and come across a lovely village with a cafe, a bookshop, and other businesses that seem to be thriving, with locals that are polite, friendly, and welcoming, stop for awhile. It could be that you’ve come to a village like any other. But it could also be that you’re in a village that is under the protection of their very own Entities.

Just don’t do anything to make them angry.


End file.
